20. Eleanor
20
Eleanor
Well, I’m not going to get too hung up on that, but that’s new.
“W-what?” I gasp, shivering under the warmth of his hand on my butt. “What are you talking about?”
He squeezes my cheek, hard, and I whimper. “Wes sent me a picture. I told you that I—”
“I did make some for you!” I cry urgently. “I… there was plenty! I left it on the stove.”
“Eleanor, don’t lie to me. There was nothing in that kitchen.”
I can track his movements, from both the pressure against my skin and the scratchiness of the calluses on his palm against my soft cotton underwear. Heat has exploded through me, pooling in an urgent way between my legs. I’m so wet I know it’s only a matter of time until he sees what this is doing to me. And from the sharp bulge against my hip bone, I can feel what it’s doing to him.
My brain is foggy, too distracted by the way my breasts are pressed hard into the mattress, but I can still remember a few things. It’s too weird talking to the headboard, though, so I try looking at him over my shoulder. “Um… maybe Wes came back for seconds? Or, I guess it could have been Dimitri. I didn’t make any for him and I left the kitchen when he walked in.”
His hand moves again, squeezing, kneading thick handfuls of flesh so that the bite of pain is quickly replaced by the sensory overload of this massage. “Blaming Dimitri, huh?”
“I—please,” I whisper. I squirm, shifting my hips as much as I can, trying to get some pressure where I desperately need the relief.
“Please, what?” he replies .
The depth of his voice makes me press my legs together tighter. There’s so much dark intention, so much amused knowledge of exactly what’s happening to me, to my body, so much masculine pride in being the cause.
I’m just a jumbled mass of wants. I want him to stop, this is too embarrassing—I’m a fucking adult. And I want him to spank me, because I’m a fucking adult who’s never been this horny in her life, but I also want to… deserve it. And I don’t, not about this anyway.
Wait. I want to deserve a spanking? Well, I’m not going to get too hung up on that, but that’s new.
But I also want him to keep going, because what he’s doing isn’t enough. I want the sting of his hand, the hard length pressing into my hip, the knowledge that he’s so consumed by me that he wants complete control.
His fingers dance along the fabric just covering my pussy lips and I’m undone. I moan and let my head drop onto the soft comforter. This feeling deep inside me is worse than a craving, how it needs him.
“Don’t spank me. Please, just… touch me.”
He groans, pressing harder into the seam of my panties. I’m sure he’s found the moisture. “You understand what you’re asking? It won’t just be touching and it’s not just sex. We do this; you’re mine. You want that?”
I nod, a bit grateful he can’t see how much I do, but I do lift my head so my voice isn’t muffled by the pillowy blanket. “I’m tired of fighting this—you and me. I may not love what you do, but I don’t think you’re a bad person. And… I really did make you dinner. I was even going to wait for you so we could eat together.”
“Fuck,” he murmurs. He slides the arm that was acting like a strap, holding me in place, under my breasts and stands a little to give himself leverage to turn me over and toss me back in a surprisingly fluid motion. He grunts a bit from the effort, but the noise I make of surprise is much louder.
I sit up, not wanting to miss a moment of him, and feel something like self-doubt creep in as I take in the full splendor. He’s so tall, so beautifully carved, so powerful. I want to be his, but even more than that, I want him to be mine. The knowledge takes a chunk out of my armor .
“Just try not to break my heart, okay? I don’t think I’ll survive it.” I look away, not really wanting to feel as laid bare as that confession makes me.
“I will never hurt you,” he says, enunciating each word. “No one ever will.”
I look back up and I can see the promise written all over his face, like it’s sealed in blood. My stomach does a little flip, and all that insecurity drains away. He really was serious. He really does want me as badly as I want him.
The knowledge gives me the confidence I need. I lean forward to get my legs under me so I can kneel at the edge of the bed, and he immediately closes the distance. The mattress is thick, and on a platform, so on my knees we’re close enough in height that he isn’t going to have to stoop.
He takes my waist; I wrap my arms around his neck. And we kiss.
It starts gently, softly. His hands grip just above my hips, holding me so we’re completely pressed flush—chest to chest. My torso is stretched, and I use one arm to hold my balance and the other to weave my fingers into his soft, silky hair. I tilt my head up, close my eyes, and as his lips brush mine, mine part.
When his fingers tighten, I let mine do the same, grabbing lightly at his hair. His lips are firm, but smooth, and the new growth of his facial hair rasps against the sensitive skin of my face. He tastes like the meatloaf I made earlier, and something almost indescribably human—the salty, earthy, textured sweetness of someone else’s mouth.
He slides his tongue just past my lips, then pulls back, and I almost fall forward from the unexpected shift. My shirt is being lifted, so I unwind my arms from his neck and hold them up. It leaves me bare, except for my underwear, and his eyes scan the expanse of skin with appreciation. His look is all reverence and eagerness. He runs the backs of his fingers against the curve of my breast, tapping my nipple with his fingernail and grinning when I go, “ah!”
“I hate sports bras,” I mutter an explanation for my nudity, feeling my face heat under his stare. My nipples prickle, hardening with the cool air and my mounting arousal.
“Me, too,” he replies, so soberly that I laugh.
I play with the bottom of his henley, and meet his eyes with the question. He smiles, reaches up to grab the shirt from behind his neck—why is it so hot when guys do that?—and gives it a tug. I pretend like I’m helping, then finish pulling it inside out for him over his arms.
I run my fingertips across his chest, pausing at a few puckered scars, and trace the outline of each ridge at the top of his abdomen. His muscles contract under my touch, almost like it tickles. His skin is warm, and smooth, but there’s no give. Not like mine. Even the very strong parts of me, like my legs, don’t feel like this, like the wall of muscle is built harder, somehow. At most, I’m firm, not hard. The difference is almost hypnotic, it’s so fascinating.
And he’s exploring, too. His palms skate across my shoulders, down my arms, but pause as I find his belt buckle. I don’t look for permission this time, I just unbuckle, unbutton and unzip. Unlike my second-skin shorts, his pants fall with a little bit of help and gravity. Then we’re both just in our underwear, though his black boxers cover quite a bit more.
There’s something so intimate about undressing each other, and something so intoxicating about doing it for the first time. I feel like I’m unwrapping a present. My breath is quick, my pulse is racing, my face feels flushed… I reach for his boxers.
I’ve never looked at a naked man and wondered if it would fit, and frankly I’d hope not. But I’ll admit to a bit of apprehension as I reach to tug the fabric over the tent he’s made. Because Mac’s a large man, so it stands to reason his cock would also be large. And while I know that the human body—especially the vagina, what with childbirth and all that—can take quite a bit, the idea of having to grin and bear it isn’t really sexy to me.
As his boxers join his pants and he steps out of them, I’m both relieved he doesn’t have some elephant trunk down there, and thoroughly excited by the size. It’s just long enough, thick enough and has an upward curve that I know it’s going to fill me so good. And if he knows how to use it, it’ll hurt just the right amount.
I lick my lips.
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me with that.” He steps forward and grabs for my waist again. I hold out my arms, thinking to resume where our kiss was cut short, but he pushes my whole body down and diagonally back so I land with a bounce on the mattress on the side of my ass with my legs curled out.
I look up at him quizzically as he wraps his large, warm palm around my ankle and tugs me forward. “You’re gonna stare at my dick and lick your lips like you think it’s your turn first? Uh-uh. I’ve been thinking about this for way too damn long.”
I giggle as he pulls me towards him until my legs come over the side of the bed. For some reason, I just love that his idea of a “turn” isn’t about receiving an orgasm, it’s about giving one. He kneels at the edge of the bed, hooking his index fingers through the elastic at my hips, and pulls down the last piece of clothing between us, leaving a path of tingling sensations.
His breath is hot on the inside of my thigh, just before he places a kiss. I feel the scrape of his stubble more than the softness of his lips, but the sound of it, and knowledge that he’s on his knees for me, makes me feel cherished.
He splays his hands on the top of my thighs, jerks my legs apart, and holds me down.
God, I love the manhandling, too.
He doesn’t give me any time to be self-conscious about the normal first-time stuff—sights, smells, the other person’s opinions—because he just dives right in. Some guys eat you out like they wish they had an extra hand to hold their nose. Mac eats me out like he’s savoring the last bit of melted ice cream at the bottom of the bowl. I writhe under him, trying not to buck my hips but unable to stop myself, as he licks around my clit, across it, finally settling on upward strokes that are almost too gentle.
I grab onto the blanket as his fingers join the party, gently stroking along the slick skin, circling my entrance without penetrating it.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he croons, pulling away and watching my face as he enters me with two fingers.
My hands fly to his head, holding on, as my back arches and I moan loudly. I’m primed, but it’s been so long and I feel so full of him so quickly. He resumes working me with his mouth and his fingers move and curl inside of me, pumping gently. I’m so primed from what feels like days of foreplay, my release builds with unexpected swiftness. Electricity sparks under my skin, sending bolts of lightning to my core. They fizzle around him, collecting against his tongue, and are suddenly sent shooting in every direction.
I cry out, seizing up, tensing and shaking, and he holds me down and rides it out, unrelenting. My vision clouds, turning into black starlight. The release is acute, bringing prickly tears to my eyes, and there’s a roaring in my ears that dulls the wet sounds of his tongue and fingers. I tighten my hold on his hair just as the pleasure turns into something sour.
I’m breathing heavily when he pulls back, my head spinning a little from the intensity.
“You ready, baby?”
I don’t even care what for. I nod. I hope he means it’s my turn. I can’t wait to see what he feels like against my tongue…
He shifts his position on the floor and pulls me towards him, using the backs of my knees for leverage, and I’m suddenly sliding down the side of the bed, grappling for purchase. I land astride him with my knees barely touch the floor.
Well, I wasn’t ready for that. “Mac!” I protest, laying my hands on his chest and trying to shove off. There’s nowhere to go, the mattress is at my back. “I’m not a lap girl!”
His grip is like iron. “No? But it’s my lap and I say you are.”
I laugh, but it comes out as an anxious noise. I don’t want to sit like this, where I’m forced to look at the contrast between my soft body and his hard one. And it can’t be comfortable for his legs or knees. “Stop, I’m too heavy.”
“For what?” he asks, leaning back and bringing me with him.
I fall against his chest with a soft oof, and when I try to brace myself on the floor to push up, he locks an arm across my back. “Mac, stop—”
“Darlin’, the fact that you think you know better than me about what I can handle is starting to irritate me. Now, are you going to trust me, or are we going to end up right back where we started with you over my knee?”
Though the idea sends a little shiver of need down my spine, I stop struggling. I can’t let myself go all the way limp, but I do note with some resigned discomfort that his chest is still rising, and his breath doesn’t seem too labored.
“Good girl. Didn’t want you to get hurt when I did this.”
He rolls us and I’m on my back. My legs are bent, curling around his hips, his pelvis is pressed into mine and his cock is almost perfectly aligned. “Oh. Ohh,” I say, inhaling deeply at the thick length, hard as steel, pressing up and sandwiched between us, applying just a bit of friction against my clit.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against my ear. “Oh. ”
He pushes up on his hands, triceps bulging to support his weight, and widens his stance. My knees splay even more, my legs are draped over his thighs, and he rolls his hips. The head of his cock rubs along my slit and I whimper.
“Please…”
“I like please. Please is good,” he whispers. “I want to hear you beg for it, baby,”
I wrap my arms back around his neck as he slides his arms under my shoulders. It puts us chest to chest, so close we’re breathing the same air. The intimacy of it is shattering. “Please, Mac, please… I need it. I want you inside of me.”
“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “Did you think about it? Did you imagine me fucking you while you played with that pretty little pussy?”
“Yes,” I answer immediately, honestly. “I wanted you to fuck me so hard and make me feel good. I wanted you to fill me—ah!”
He does. I throw my head back, closing my eyes, as the full, hard length of him sheathes inside me and touches me exactly where I need it. My body adjusts to him, stretching around him deliciously.
“Don’t look away from me,” he growls.
My eyes fly open in shock, because it wasn’t an intentional attempt at escape, and we’re locked in. The closeness, the clarity of his eyes and expression, the rawness of not being able to hide anything… I can see every emotion as he responds to mine—the total control, the excitement, the pleasure, and something so deeply possessive that it’s almost unsettling. Every slow, deep thrust makes me whimper, and the noises just seem to spur him on.
It’s one of the most intense experiences I’ve ever had.
“Oh my God, Mac,” I say, and it’s an emotive rasp. “I didn’t know it was going to be like this. It’s… so much.”
“That’s right, baby, now you know. You know you’re mine,” he declares, his voice strained as he pumps himself in and out of me. “You belong to me now.”
His weight shifts to one side and he frees one hand, which then slides up my forearm, and brings it down next to my head. His fingers entwine with mine and he presses his weight on it, forcing it into the carpet.
We’re holding hands as his lips crash down, his rhythm slowing to allow for a thorough exploration. I match his passion, tasting myself on him this time, touching his tongue with mine and letting myself be caught up in the violence of his desire for me.
I roll my hips with his, finding the right friction in the right place, and I break free of the kiss to cry out in pleasure. He starts thrusting faster, and the sound of skin slapping skin fills the air. I start riding higher and higher, the pressure of each brief contact hitting my clit and giving it just enough to keep me on edge.
“Mine, mine, mine, mine,” he grits out, timing it with the pinnacle of each thrust.
His breath starts hitching and I let go of his neck to wind my arm between us and rub my clit. I want to come together. My timing is a little off, he starts grunting and his face screws up, just as I start to build to that peak. But watching the pleasure pass over his features, knowing I was the orchestrator of it, sends me hurtling off that same edge.
The full weight of his body as his muscles loosen in the post-orgasm state is a lot—he’d really only given me a hint of it. But I run my fingernails up his back, enjoying the feel of him. We both catch our breath, then he rears back and smiles down at me. It’s so content and lazily affectionate, I have to smile back.
“Let’s go take a shower. I need a break, but I’m not done with you yet.”